


Primal

by DamadiSangue



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Christmas Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:42:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamadiSangue/pseuds/DamadiSangue
Summary: Fabron lifts his chin, looks at her - he moves away from her just enough to be out of her reach."I heard that a new employee will arrive with the new year.""Adirector,Daniel.""Oh,magnificent:as if you were not enough for me.""I could always throw you in the middle of the guinea pigs and see you toddle behind a licker: what do you think?""That you enjoys too much torturing me at work to kill methatway."
Relationships: Albert Wesker/Alex Wesker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Primal

"He had discovered that there was not just _one_ God but many,  
and some were more than cruel:  
they were insane, and that changed all.   
Cruelty, after all, was understandable.   
With insanity, however, there was no arguing."  
\- Stephen King - 

**Primal**

None of this means _anything_ to her.  
The red and green decorations, the giant fir in the center of the room, the tinkling of silver cutlery.  
Roasted puff pastry cottages, caviar canapes; shattering teeth, chewing _jaws_ \- the sound of a hunger that Raccoon City has **always** known.  
_Play something to us_ , he asked her.  
_Moonlight Sonata_ , perhaps, the underlying order.  
Alex had nodded, barely wetting her lips with a dark rum like her thoughts - postponing and delaying.  
"The old man put in a good show, um?"  
Alex raises an eyebrow, glares at him.  
"Only the best for the new Umbrella youth." she replies, grabbing a second glass and sending it down in one swoop.  
Fabron shrugs, then studying the nearby bottle - a 1953 Damoiseau Vintage.  
"I prefer wine: red, possibly. A Chateau Lagrande, for example."  
"You're a living cliché, Daniel."  
"I take that as a compliment, _docteur_ Fayer."  
Alex clicks her tongue against the palate, stares at the flames crackling in the chimney's mouth, the _ridiculous_ stockings hanging over it.  
"Maybe we should just enjoy Christmas dinner."  
_And maybe you should get the fuck out,_ Alex thinks, but she smiles instead, baring her teeth.  
Fabron lifts his chin, looks at her - he moves away from her just enough to be out of her reach.  
"I heard that a new employee will arrive with the new year."  
"A _director_ , Daniel."  
"Oh, magnificent: as if you were not enough for me."  
"I could always throw you in the middle of the guinea pigs and see you toddle behind a licker: what do you think?"  
"That you enjoys _too much_ torturing me at work to kill me that way."  
Alex sketched a laugh in spite of herself, mentally making a note to eliminating him for last- when it will all be over and the old man kneeling down.  
Daniel grabs a bon bon of zucchini and shrimp, he sighs.  
"Do I find you at the midnight toast?"  
Alex is silent, pressing her lips into a thin line - annoyed.  
"As you want."  
Fabron walks away, becoming a figure in a suit and tie among others.  
Alex drinks another glass of rum, checks the situation around him - the bystanders and **him.**  
When Daniel turns towards the corridor he finds only an empty space.

  
Alex's anger _burns_ \- flares with every bite, _gasp_.  
"Deeper." she murmurs, and there is nothing sweet about her - nothing _romantic._  
She claws at the back of his neck, _tugs_ \- intertwines her fingers in his hair and _tightens,_ curled around him like a clothed white snake.  
And she wants to _feel_ , Alex; wants _to live._  
After all, it was this that first attracted him, wasn't it?  
The transparent eyes - _cruel_ \- the mouth always bent into an arrogant, _selfish_ grimace - the total abandonment with which she gave him a body equal to his, pale and _fierce._  
Wesker licks the curve of her neck with the tip of his tongue, sinks - blood between his teeth, on his lips.  
And there is no space between them - no reality.  
Alex slams her shoulders against the heavy walnut bookcase, on the ground one red Saint Laurent shoe, the third volume of Natural History Conspectus.  
She presses her heels in his back, arching backwards and murmur his name - wet, _full of him._  
Wesker holds back a groan - _comes_ , and they fall together.

**Always.**

Orgasm leaves both confused, satisfied: far from what is happening downstairs, outside Spencer's studio.  
For a while silence is an intimate, private space; a dimension in which one finds the breath on the skin of the other, without masks and roles.  
For a while Alex _laughs_ ; tells him about Fabron, about his _absurd_ French curses and how much he enjoyed playing with one of the tyrants like a child.  
For a while Albert _listens_ : rolls a strand of her hair around his forefinger and let her voice soften his heart, his thoughts.  
Alex and Albert cease to exist for a while; naked in the soul, on the skin.  
"Five minutes to midnight." Wesker tells her.  
"We should come back." Alex concludes for him, rising on her elbows.  
Wesker lays down on her, opening his fingers around her navel and _goes down_ \- asking, _pleading._  
Alex closes her eyes and listens to her breathing becoming _something else._

  
"I didn't see you for the Christmas toast."  
Alex adjusts the strap of her dress, checks that both earrings are in place - Cartier, white gold and ninety-six brilliant-cut diamonds.  
Fabron sketches a sly smile, one of those who _want_ to know.   
"I hope _he_ was worth the inconvenience, _docteur_."  
Alex is silent, straightens her back, rubs her thighs together - she sees him in the crowd.  
"I also hope for you, Fabron: they say the potato and cod mousse is _wonderful_."  
"Oh, it was: but I prefer caviar."  
"You continues to be a _tremendous_ cliché, Fabron."  
"It's part of my charm."  
Alex grabs a flute from a nearby tray, lifting it in his direction.  
"To this Christmas, Daniel: and to the new director in the Umbrella Intelligence Division."  
"I can't wait to meet him, _ma belle_." Fabron replies, barely touching the rim of Alex's glass.  
Alex releases a throat sound, _laughs_ \- looks a point beyond his shoulder ( **him** ).  
Wesker adjusts his shirt collar - hides _them_ \- and _smiles.  
  
  
  
  
  
_**"And this great love makes you both ruthless."**  
**\- Iris Murdoch -** _  
_


End file.
